"Who do you think you're fooling, you scammer?! This is just water!"

The adventurer tossed the glass bottle back into the peddler's hand with implied indignation, before walking away with stomping steps and a glare that screamed disdain.

"But…" the dejected man started, but words failed him, and the traveler was already halfway down the road.

Charles LaTan dropped the rejected Potion of Hydration back into the basket containing all the others within his cart before letting out a long sigh. He leaned against the end of his hand-pulled wagon and let his shoulders drop forward as he stared emptily at the partially frozen dirt under his boots.

The weather was cold, but not as cold as the feeling inside the wannabe merchant.

Warm breath escaped his mouth in the form of a small white puff as he grumbled to himself.

"How does he make it look so easy? So effortless?!"

He was, of course, thinking of the merchant crab.

Charles had long since gotten over the feeling of envy toward the wild crustacean's bartering skills. It had taken him some time and a lot of talking to himself in front of the mirror, but he got there eventually. No more envy.

Now, instead, he only felt humiliated for not being anywhere near as good as the eight-legged creature.

Some would call that progress in the right direction. Maybe.

When Balthazar did it, selling those bottles filled with pond water seemed like the simplest thing in the world. Adventurers would practically jump at the opportunity to pay top-crown for what was essentially the crab's used bathwater—and who in their right mind would even do such a thing?

But when Charles gave it his all to sell the premium, high-quality Potions of Hydration he had been hauling for weeks, no one would buy them. They'd scoff at him, ignore him, or even insult him as if he was a second-rate merchant. Which he knew he was definitely not. Charles LaTan was at the very least a third-rate trader, maybe even fourth-rate, depending on how high that scale went. He wasn't quite sure about that.

The peddler always tried to do it exactly like the experts. He copied every technique, every sales speech, every line. Yet, it never achieved the same results.

What was he missing?

Some would tell him it had to do with his charisma. Or lack of it.

An adventurer wearing some fancy magical glasses had even told him once that his problem was a "lackluster Charisma stat." Whatever that meant.

Charles didn't get it. Or agree with it.

"I've got charisma in spades!" he told himself as he grabbed a shiny platter from his wagon and held it in front of his face to check the reflection.

A man smiled at him from the polished surface, his toothy grin revealing a couple of missing molars.

The peddler gave his own reflection a wink and stored the platter back in the wagon.

"So why won't they buy my wares?!" he asked himself while idly grabbing the handles of his cart and resuming his march toward the nearest town.

As Charles slowly and carefully crept down the slope on the road, he saw the entrance to the settlement ahead.

Straining to maneuver the vehicle behind him through the muddy road and the icy patches, the traveler groaned and grumbled as he cursed his luck.

"Damnable wheels! Blasted piece of bad road! I'm sure Balthazar never had to deal with this kind of stuff during his travels! Why can't I be as fortunate as him? I've got all the potential, but I'm always missing something. I just need… something. An edge. Anything that turns my luck around!"

As the mud-covered man came closer to the town entrance, he noticed a strange gathering of people on the side of the road.

A group of about twenty agitated townsfolk were bumping shoulders to try to get a closer look at the peculiar character at the center of it all.

A head of bright orange hair, like a ball of yarn possessed by chaos, stood taller above the rest, perched atop an upside down fruit crate that served as an improvised stage for his ongoing preaching.

"And so it was, the day when the generous ascendant crab and his companions saved my life!" the ginger kid in robes exclaimed loudly to the listening crowd. "From that moment on, I knew! I knew that it was up to me to spread the word of the great Balthazar! For he… is… awesome!"

The townsfolk erupted into cheers and hollers, roused by the overly excited young preacher as if they had experienced the life-changing experience themselves. Young workers, old retirees, peasants in dirty clothes, as well as well-off folks in pristine vestments, all of them seemed just as captivated by the tale from the kid.

Charles observed the ongoing scene with great interest from afar, remaining on the other end of the road so as to not bring attention to his arrival.

The freckled youngling was clearly talking about the same merchant crab the peddler knew, but what exactly could their connection be? Could he be another merchant, rousing a crowd with a well-spun web of tales that ultimately lead to selling his product?

Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

LaTan rubbed his chin in thought, unintentionally leaving a brown smudge on his face. Surely Balthazar had not sent that ginger boy out as another authorized reseller of his Potions of Hydration too?

"No, of course not," the muddy merchant told himself. "Look at him, he does not have the bearing of a fine mercator. The air of refinement one expects. Unlike me!"

After wiping his filthy hands on the front of his equally filthy tunic, Charles grabbed hold of the handles of his cart again and started slowly approaching the town entrance, trying to get a better listen without bringing too much attention to himself.

"So awesome, in fact," the robed boy continued, "that I have been traveling the land distributing figurines carved in his crabby image. Because such an amazing hero deserves his own action figures!"

"How much for one?!" an old man with a walking cane and a top hat exclaimed from the back of the crowd as he retrieved a visibly fat purse of coins from his vest.

"Yes, how much for two?!" a farmhand yelled from the other side.

"I'll buy four!" shouted a voice from elsewhere.

The ginger preacher looked inside the sack behind him and his merry grin turned into a half pout.

"I'm… I'm sorry, folks," he said, his demeanor turning from brimming excitement to visible dejection. "I seem to have run out of figurines. I really thought I still had some."

Multiple "awws" and "ohs" came from the crowd as they all collectively slumped their shoulders and looked down at the ground with similar disappointment as the boy.

"Maybe next time, friends," the preacher said, his words lacking conviction as he tried to force a smile. "Just remember, Balthazar saves all! Spread the word of the merchant crab's coming… please?"

The crowd was already dispersing, each of the townsfolk going their separate ways, their expressions now devoid of the excitement they had just a moment before, and some even looking confused, like someone coming out of a daze.

Charles finally decided to come closer, now that everyone else had left the boy alone, picking up his box and bags. His nose was sniffing potential in the air, and he intended to capture it. It also sniffed his own intense body odor after days on the road, but that was a concern for later.

"Greetings, young man!" LaTan said with a booming voice and toothy grin as he put down the handles of his wagon and waved at the robed boy.

"Oh!" the other exclaimed, turning on the spot. "Were you in the crowd? Are you looking to become an acolyte of Balthazar?"

The kid's wide, unblinking eyes, and almost pleading energy made Charles feel slightly uncomfortable—which was odd to the peddler, because it was usually him causing such feelings.

"Not exactly, but I heard part of your tale as I arrived," the muddied man said. "I am Charles LaTan, by the way. A famous traveling merchant. Perhaps you have heard of me before?"

"Nope!" the kid said with a big grin and not a hint of malice or irony. "But it's nice to meet you, Mr. LaTan. My name's Taffy, and I'm traveling too, but to spread the tale of the merchant crab, Balthazar. I'm his biggest fan!"

"Ah, but then you should have heard of me, my friend," the puffed up merchant said, grabbing the sides of his stained vest. "I am Balthazar's first and only authorized seller!"

"Really?!" Taffy said, his eyebrows raising so much that Charles almost expected them to simply leave the kid's forehead and continue upward toward the sky.

"Why, of course! I am a reputable merchant. My word is my bond! As you can see here, I even carry Balthazar's finest product—precious bottles filled with Potion of Hydration."

The traveling peddler reached into his wagon and retrieved one of the bottles filled with clear liquid. With a flick, he tossed one at the crab worshiper, who received it with both hands and awe in his eyes.

Taffy carefully uncorked the vial and tentatively took a sniff from it.

"My goodness!" the freckled boy exclaimed, quickly corking the bottle again. "This is truly water from the heavenly pond of Mr. Balthazar. I'd recognize the scent anywhere!"

Choosing to set aside the concerning questions he had about the scent claim, Charles took the potion bottle back and stored it back in the wagon.

"I also had my own merchant crab merchandise," Taffy continued. "But it looks like I ran out of crab figurines to give out without noticing, and I can't really get more."

LaTan cocked an eyebrow. "Oh? And why is that?"

"The two skeletons I had brought with me from Mr. Balthazar's dungeon just vanished from my side a couple of nights ago. I went to sleep, and when I woke up they were simply gone."

Charles' jaw hung low as he struggled to articulate what he wanted to say. "Did you just say… skeletons?"

"Yes," the robed fanatic responded. "One of them, Splinters, was really good at carving wood. The other one, Rattlefist… I'm not so sure what its talent was, it just tended to stand there and look menacing. I'll miss those guys. Not very good talkers, but such great listeners! I practiced most of my sermons with them as my test audience! I hope that wherever they are now, they are chasing their own dreams."

The peddler stared dumbfounded at the acolyte, who was himself staring off into the distant horizon with an innocently dumb smile and sparkly eyes. Charles wondered if the kid was right in the head, given his strange personality and the fact that he had apparently been traveling with two undead without much of a worry. Was it a good idea to mix himself with such an odd character?

Then the wannabe prince of trade remembered he himself was working as a franchisee under commission for an eight-legged crustacean, selling bottles of unfiltered water, and that he was currently covered in mud.

He was not one to speak, and if destiny had brought him and this peculiar crow rouser together, who was he to look a gift horse in the mouth? No, Charles would seize the opportunity and ride that horse all the way to the top.

"Say, friend," LaTan said to Taffy. "I was thinking here. We both seem to be serving Bal—Mr. Balthazar in our own ways, putting our talents to work in his name. Wouldn't it be grand if we joined forces, stuck together, and took on the road as a team, spreading the good word—and good wares—of the merchant crab to all of Mantell?"

The ginger boy turned his freckled face to Charles with wide eyes of disbelief, his mouth slightly ajar.

"You… You want us to travel together?"

"Well," the peddler started, "if you allow me to explain my reasonin—"

"I'm in!" Taffy exclaimed with a jump. "I will travel with you, Mr. LaTan! Oh boy, oh boy, this is so exciting! A real team-up! A travel partner of not just bone, but flesh too! That I can actually chat with!"

The muddied merchant flinched back with a start at the sudden and unexpected outburst of joy from the young crab fan, but quickly regained his composure and salesman smile.

"Great! I'm glad to hear!" the peddler said, offering the boy his open hand.

Taffy looked down at the mud-covered palm for a brief moment, before grinning again and bringing his own hand in for a vigorous handshake that lasted way longer than Charles felt was necessary.

This business partnership was either about to be the best move Charles LaTan had ever made, or his worst. He really couldn't be sure yet.

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